As a gloomy day winds down
and eerie sounds fill my room,
Creating ideas engrossing the mind,
Releasing a morbid vision of doom.
Outside the wind is howling,
Like a stray dogs's constant whine,
And the dusk is slowly declining
over the region by natural design.
It is then that death frightens me,
And I am overwhelmed in thought,
As I reflect upon my tenure in life,
And the good and bad thoughts I wrought.
When death lurks in my household,
And I am laid to my final rest,
I hope it will be said of me,
'He always did his very best.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem